Wounds
by yumi michiyo
Summary: Miroku and Sango patch each other up after a bloody battle. Pure fluffiness. Oneshot.


**Author's Note:** Written for (Lady) **Griddlebone**'s birthday as a giftfic.

* * *

The group had fought a fierce battle against a group of bat demons for their treasure: five shards of the Shikon jewel. It had been a close battle which Inuyasha managed to end with a strategically-aimed Backlash Wave which reduced the leader to a handful of ashes. The few survivors had lost heart and fled, dropping the shards in their haste.

Inuyasha's group was not completely unscathed, though. Apart from the myriad of scratches, minor cuts and bruises everyone sported, Sango had a nasty wound on the back of her shoulders, where a bat's claws had gotten under her armour, Inuyasha bore claw marks all over his torso and legs and Miroku's right leg was badly gashed. They managed to get to a nearby abandoned temple to lick their wounds.

Miroku leaned back against the wall of the temple hall. He winced as he picked away the scraps of fabric from the bloody gash. In the next room, he could hear Inuyasha complaining and cursing as Kagome patched him up.

"How is your wound, Houshi-sama?" Sango had noticed him tending his leg from the opposite side of the room. He gave her a lopsided smile.

"I'll live. How about you, Sango? Doesn't your shoulder pain you?" He had not seen her get hurt; he had deduced the slayer had been injured from the stiff, careful way she held herself.

She craned her neck to peer at it and shook her head. "Not so much. I've had worse."

Miroku fell silent, knowing well what other wound she was referring to.

The monk limped over to the box Kagome had left for them earlier, rummaging for the supplies he needed. "Well, Sango, let's see that shoulder."

She blushed furiously red. "I – I can wait until Kagome gets back. Your leg needs to be seen to first, Houshi-sama…"

"I think Kagome will be quite a while. After all, Inuyasha was pretty badly torn up." He lowered himself into a clumsy sitting position, his injured leg out at an angle at his side. Sango flinched as Miroku reached out to touch her shoulder. He withdrew his hand immediately as though he'd been burned.

"Kuso – I'm sorry! Sango, did I hurt you?"

She turned her face to him, biting her lower lip nervously. "…No, Houshi-sama. I – I'm sorry." Two spots of colour remained high on her cheeks.

Miroku sensed her discomfort and moved his hands to his lap. "Sango, I know that you're uncomfortable with me because of my… ah, _lechery_. But that wound needs to be cleaned and treated as quickly as possible."

"I know…"

"Sango, I give you my word of honour that I will be a perfect gentleman."

She hesitated. Slowly, she undid the toggle at her neck of her slayer suit, rolling down the fabric, keeping her back to him the whole time. Miroku waited patiently until Sango had freed her left arm from the one-piece garment, exposing her entire back. She was not completely indecent though; her breast bindings were still in place around her chest, torn and bloodied as they were. Finally, she folded her hands in her lap and waited.

Miroku leaned forward, examining the wound. The claw marks, three parallel gouges in her flesh, started in the middle of her upper back, over the shoulder blades, and extended all the way to her left upper arm. He whistled softly.

_Kami – the wound looks terrible. How can she bear it so calmly? _he thought.

His eyes were suddenly drawn to her hands. She was clenching her fists so tightly the knuckles had gone white.

Miroku sighed heavily. "Sango, relax." Instinctively, he covered her small hands with his larger one and squeezed gently. As he stroked his thumb over the back of her hands, he felt the tension leave them.

His hand still over hers, the monk picked up a clean rag with his free hand, dipping into the bucket of water Kagome had provided before leaving. Miroku poised it over the cut.

"This is going to hurt quite a bit," he warned, handing her a roll of cloth torn from his own robe to bite on. Sango accepted it gratefully, freeing one of her hands from her lap to take the cloth and push it into her mouth.

He ran the rag along the edge of the wound and instantly felt her stiffen. Sango's hand gripped his tightly and he moved his hand, entwining their fingers.

The entire process was painful but quick, Miroku trying to end it as fast as possible to lessen the agony for her. Once or twice she had made muffled sounds of pain, spasms running through her muscles as her body recoiled from the cleaning. Sango clutched his hand so tightly the whole time it was numb but the monk never let go, periodically giving her fingers reassuring squeezes.

Finally, Miroku leaned back, dropping the bloodied rag into the pail. "Well done, Sango," he said, caressing the back of her hand. "Now I just need to bandage it and I'll be done."

She nodded, wiping the beads of cold sweat from her face and neck with one hand. The other maintained its grip on his hand. Miroku smiled.

"Sango, as much as I enjoy holding your hand, I think I need both my hands to bandage with," he grinned. Leaning back in, he whispered into her ear. "However, if you insist, we have plenty of time for that later."

The slayer blushed furiously but could not slap him, due to the angle of her body. She released his hand but pinched its back as Miroku withdrew it.

"Ouch!" He rubbed the reddened skin, the lecherous smile never leaving his face.

"Pervert," she muttered hotly, trying to maintain the last few shreds of her dignity.

Grinning, Miroku made quick work of the dressings, tying a neat knot over her shoulder when he was done.

"There. How do you feel?"

She moved her arm experimentally. "Much better. You did a good job, Houshi-sama." Sango bent awkwardly at the waist, attempting to retrieve her kimono, only to find the monk had anticipated her need. He draped it around her shoulders, covering her body.

"T – Thank you," she mumbled. Pulling the garment closed and tying the knot of her obi, she shifted on the mat and gestured for Miroku to bring his leg closer.

Wincing a little, the monk maneuvered the limb as close to her as he could manage. Sango offered him the gag but he smilingly declined.

"I don't think I'll need it. After all, I'm in your capable hands," Miroku said with a wink.

Growling softly under her breath – that monk never failed to raise her hackles – Sango wiped the gash a little harder than she needed to. It had the intended effect, making Miroku inhale sharply and clamp his mouth shut. She worked in silence, making sure the wound was completely disinfected before wrapping the bandages around it.

"Thank you," managed the monk, mopping his brow and inspecting the dressings approvingly. From the tight, wound look on her face, he judged it fatal to make any sexually charged comments. The slayer acknowledged him with a curt nod, busying herself with putting away the medical supplies.

Sango was about to rise to put the box to one side when she felt a hand catch her wrist. "You shouldn't be moving around so soon," admonished Miroku gently. "You'll reopen the cuts."

Her temper flared. "I know, Houshi-sama! I'm not a child, stop treating me like one!" She pulled her hand away and promptly staggered, her arm shooting out and bracing herself against the wall for support.

"Sango!" He was behind her in an instant, one hand clutching her elbow, the other around her waist. She stiffened.

"Houshi-sama, your leg…!"

He grimaced and looked down. "… Kuso."

She wriggled out of his grasp and pushed him back down firmly. "You idiot!" she scolded, seeing fresh blood darken the bandages.

Miroku's eyes were unusually dark with anger. "You're one to talk," he muttered, tugging at the shoulder of her kimono to expose blood-stained dressings.

They glared at each other for a minute before a snort broke the tense atmosphere.

Sango giggled, then blushed, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. Miroku stared back in amazement before succumbing, throwing his head back in gales of rich laughter. All self-control promptly vanished and she joined him, bending over, her chest heaving.

"What's going on?" Kagome poked her head back in, Inuyasha's head under hers, making a comical scene.

Miroku paused mid-laugh, his face flushed. "Kagome-sama! Inuyasha! Oh, erm, nothing." Sango shook her head furiously, her face by now an impressive magenta.

"You two idiots," muttered Inuyasha. "I can smell the blood from here."

Kagome's eyes traveled over the pair and she raised her eyebrows, smiling. "Come on, Inuyasha, let's go," she said, tugging gently on one of his ears.

Cowed, the dog demon let her lead him away without protest, leaving Miroku and Sango alone again.

The monk had stopped laughing by now: he had fallen into a thoughtful silence, his violet eyes traveling up and down her body. Sango blushed, feeling naked under his intense scrutiny.

"Houshi-sama?"

He blinked before the smile returned to his face. "Right. I'm sorry, let me take a look at that shoulder again." Miroku did not bother to undo the obi, simply tugging at the collar of her kimono until it pooled around her waist, exposing the bloodied bandages.

"If you're lucky, the wounds won't have been torn open," he scolded her half-jokingly, half-angrily. "I had half a mind to stitch them up earlier, maybe I should do it now…"

Sango hissed as he touched a tender spot and turned her head to watch him out of the corner of her eye. "I think you should stitch it up, if it means you won't be fussing over me like a mother hen."

He rolled his eyes. "I do not fuss; I merely express my concern for your injuries, given the cavalier way you treat them."

She sighed and put the gag into her mouth. "Just do it, houshi," she mumbled. The monk set to work, making neat precise stitches in her skin. Sango looked away the instant the needle pierced her skin; despite the many times she had wounds stitched up, it still made her uneasy to actually watch the process.

Miroku was a quick worker and he was soon done. Only the deepest of the cuts were sewn up, the rest merely cleaned and the whole wound bandaged again. "You'd better take care of yourself this time, we're running low on fresh bandages," he admonished her as Sango tested her arm.

The slayer scowled and inched around, cutting the bandages off Miroku's leg. "Houshi-sama, stop nagging or I'll sew up your mouth as well as your leg."

It did the trick. She managed to redress his leg – the cut was not deep enough to merit stitches – without another word from him.

He clambered clumsily to his feet with the help of his shakujou the minute Sango tied the last knot. "Now you stay there," he said firmly, wagging a finger at her. "Don't you _dare_ get up, Sango – I mean it!"

Sango abandoned her half-hearted attempt to get up, amused by his fierceness. She followed him with her eyes as he hobbled over to the pile of bedding in the corner of the room and returned, a blanket clasped under one arm.

"Here," he said, bundling it up and pushing it in front of her, "lie down on your front on this." The slayer complied obediently, resting her chin on top of the bedding, her arms wrapped around the plush mound. "Yes, Haha-ue," she drawled playfully.

His eyes gleamed playfully. "That's a good girl," Miroku remarked, leaning his back against the wall, his injured leg sticking out at an odd angle.

The warmth and comfort was getting to Sango: she was feeling drowsy all of a sudden. Before she surrendered to sleep, she wanted to thank him for taking care of her.

But then she caught his eye: the look in them told her he already knew.


End file.
